


How The Light Gets In

by gemjam



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 19:56:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7815049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex tries to get his feelings for Mitch into perspective and work out if letting go is really an option.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How The Light Gets In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yeswecoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeswecoffee/gifts).



> For the prompt _I have a hopeless crush on someone I have no chance with._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Ring the bells that still can ring_  
>  _Forget your perfect offering_  
>  _There is a crack, a crack in everything_  
>  _That's how the light gets in._
> 
>  
> 
> _Anthem - Leonard Cohen_

Mitch grabs the back of Alex’s shirt as soon as the hotel room door closes behind them, stopping him from moving any further into the room. Alex falters, feels like he’s on reins, and he thinks forlornly how he at least wanted to make it to the bed. He wanted that much.

As he turns Mitch is smirking at him, that smirk that’s so familiar because Alex has seen it a million times but rarely directed at him. That smirk is predatory in a way his usual cheeky smoulder isn’t and it can only mean one thing. Alex is next.

He lets himself be reeled in, Mitch pushing him back against the wall, pushing himself against Alex’s body, and Alex can’t breathe but he doesn’t need to, not with Mitch’s tongue in his mouth. There’s something about how grabby Mitch’s hands are in the fabric of Alex’s shirt, something about how he has to stand on his tiptoes to get their mouths level, something about the heat of his body, how tight and muscular it is under Alex’s tentative hands. There’s something about the fact that he’s such a mind blowing kisser, but then Alex knows that’s just down to practice.

*

The photograph was so overtly sexual that Alex could barely believe Daniil was posting it - Mitch with his fucking tongue out, curled provocatively, so close to licking Daniil’s neck. Alex could see it for what it was, obvious foreshadowing, and he was certain everyone else would be able to see it too. At least now he knew how Mitch was spending his evening and bowling wasn’t the half of it.

He put his phone aside, failing to understand the simmering rage inside him. Daniil could post whatever ill-advised photos he liked. Mitch could be as big a fuckboy as he liked. It had nothing to do with Alex.

Except that he found himself, five minutes later, staring at the photograph again, trying to work out where this visceral feeling was coming from, why he couldn’t put it down. Mitch was his friend. Mitch was someone he maybe fancied. Not that it mattered, Alex wasn’t about to be a conquest, it wasn’t his style.

But the photo, the caption, Mitch’s name tagged four times. Alex had a feeling Mitch was the one who’d done that, posted the photo from Daniil’s phone, drawn obvious attention to himself. He was a whore for more than just a fuck. It was shameless and Alex wanted to look away but for some reason he wasn’t.

*

Mitch’s teeth graze over Alex’s lower lip and Alex doesn’t want to whimper, doesn’t want to shiver, doesn’t want to give it all away that easily. Mitch tugs at Alex’s shirt, untucks it from his trousers, and it feels a little bit like unravelling. Mitch’s hand is hot, damp with sweat, or maybe that’s Alex’s own flesh. He sucks in his stomach instinctively, not ticklish but sensitive, and self-conscious in a way that goes far deeper than the physical.

Mitch’s lips on his neck, Alex tilting his head back, and he feels like he should be doing something more than panting and holding onto Mitch like a lifeline but he’s not sure what, his brain already a mess. But Mitch is good at this, it’s his area of expertise, and Alex kind of wants to just sit back and make him prove himself. His heart’s already on the line, he’s not sure what else he has left to offer.

Mitch takes the bait. Mitch always does.

He shifts himself back with a smirk, begins to unbutton Alex’s crisp white shirt, and the sureness of his fingers almost angers Alex. He wants him to falter, just for a second. He wants him to be real. Nothing about this is real though, not in an emotional sense. It’s just sex. Just sex. The words echo around Alex’s head.

The last button Mitch unfastens is the one on Alex’s trousers. He smirks, his eyes fixed on Alex’s, and he never breaks that eye-contact as he pulls down the zipper, as he drops to his knees.

*

Alex found it hard to fathom the casualness with which Mitch invited him to an actual Formula 1 driver’s house like it was any other summer barbeque. But Mark was Mitch’s friend first and all the accolades second so of course this was nothing to him. For Alex it was a huge deal, being so close to this world that had felt unobtainable for so long, everything he hoped he had the potential to achieve laid out in front of him.

He felt shy but he tried not to let it show, tried to act relaxed and laid back and not at all star struck, tried to follow Mitch’s lead, but Mitch’s easy confidence and familiarity with all of these new faces made him feel even more self-conscious and at some point he ended up alone with an empty glass and no idea where the toilets were.

He headed around the building, looking for a likely door to get inside, but instead found Mark leaning back against the wall, Mitch in front of him, something charged about their exchange. Alex should have walked away. He wished he’d walked away. Instead he took a step back and guiltily watched it play out.

There was Mark, laconic and sceptical and refusing to rise to the bait, and then there was Mitch, a clear contrast, all pout and brat and entitlement. After a few moments Mark got bored with Mitch’s obvious wheedling, standing up from the wall and getting into Mitch’s space in a way that looked intimidating but it only made Mitch smile.

_I want to suck your cock._

Alex could see the way his mouth moved with the words, as though he could almost taste it already, the blush that should have been on Mitch’s face rising up on Alex’s instead. He felt his heart beating too fast, sweating prickling at his body, and nothing about this surprised him, not Mitch’s shamelessness, not this revelation about the nature of the relationship he shared with Mark, not even the fact that he was doing this metres away from their guests. And yet Alex felt ashamed; ashamed at witnessing it, ashamed at feeling dirty for doing so.

He stepped away, heading back around the house, passing by the party guests just long enough to tell someone he was leaving. As he pulled out of Mark’s driveway he suddenly remembered how much he needed to pee.

*

Alex’s fingers slide through Mitch’s hair as Mitch’s lips slide around Alex’s cock. Alex makes a noise in the back of his throat, biting down on his lip, loving and hating that look in Mitch’s eyes. He’s cocky but he has a right to be. Alex reminds himself again it’s practice.

He tips his head back, presses it against the wall, closes his eyes. He concentrates on the feel of Mitch’s mouth, his lips, his tongue, remembers all the times he’s imagined this, all the times he’s tried desperately not to. They could have been doing this the afternoon they met, Alex is sure of it. They could have done it a million times since then. But they’re doing it now. Alex wants to believe it’s on his own terms but Mitch created this game and he’s always going to win.

Alex lets his head fall forwards and Mitch has his eyes closed now, isn’t putting on a show, he’s just enjoying himself, savouring it, and Alex tries to hold onto that, tries to tell himself this means something, and then tries very hard to push the thought away and remind himself he’s not special. He’s stuck somewhere in the middle when Mitch strokes the inside of his thigh, the back of his knee, and Alex somehow, between the wall and Mitch and the trousers pooled around his ankles, nearly loses his balance.

Mitch opens his eyes, sees Alex looking, and Alex thinks he’s going to smirk but he doesn’t. He flicks his tongue over Alex’s slit, making him moan, making him blush, making him feel everything far too much, and then he sucks harder, hollowing his cheeks, and Alex can’t resist running his fingers over them, feeling the dip, almost feeling himself through it.

His hand slides back into Mitch’s hair, gripping hard, pulling him back, his teeth gritted with determination.

*

Carlos was a good boy, that’s what Alex thought, until he saw the way he danced with Mitch after a few drinks. They were on a crowded dancefloor, anyone could be looking as they ground together, sharing filthy looks. They moved to the bathroom soon enough though and Alex made his own exit from the throng of sweaty bodies, returning to their table and nursing another ridiculous cocktail that Mitch kept buying rounds of. It was all going to his head.

Something about the loud music, the sensory overload that made him completely unable to focus on the details, it opened up the big picture to him. Or maybe that was just the alcohol.

He wasn’t sure there was a name for the emotion, but jealousy came close. He wasn’t jealous of Mitch, being able to sleep with anyone he looked at the right way. He wasn’t jealous of Carlos, probably having his cock sucked in a filthy club bathroom right now, or maybe fucking Mitch against a graffiti ridden cubicle wall. He wasn’t even jealous that Mitch never looked at him that way, that getting into Alex’s pants didn’t seem to be on his agenda. Alex didn’t want that. Alex wanted more than that. Alex wanted something Mitch wasn’t giving to anybody.

*

Mitch looks up at him, lips wet and parted, cheeks flushed, hair a mess. He’s the perfect picture of debauchery and it suits him but Alex feels conflicted. This is what he’s being offered and he knows he took the decision to take it but part of him would like to pretend, just within these four walls. He wants more; is it so bad to indulge the fantasy that he’s getting it?

Alex swallows, stuck between stark reality and a world where Mitch might actually touch him again, where this might mean something to him.

Mitch’s hand is still on his hip so Alex reaches for it, wraps his fingers around Mitch’s wrist, pulls him to his feet. It feels good to be in control, to lead Mitch towards the bed, the pristine sheets, a thing still unruined. He tries not to draw comparisons.

He lays back, pulls Mitch on top of him, settles his hands on Mitch’s back and feels the heat of him radiating through his T-shirt. He gazes at Mitch and Mitch’s lips might be curved subtly into a smile but he isn’t openly mocking him so Alex calls it a win. Not that he’s keeping score. Keeping score is dangerous.

He pulls Mitch into a kiss, surges up to meet him halfway, and this is still new but it’s also starting to feel familiar, the way Mitch licks into his mouth, the way he tilts his head. Alex slides his hands beneath the fabric of Mitch’s shirt, runs his fingers up his back, smooth flesh and hard muscles that shift under his touch. He feels powerful, like he’s moving stone.

Mitch pulls back, tugs the shirt over his head, sends it flying across the room. He’s never been one for subtlety, even less so patience. Alex looks and it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but this time it’s different because it’s only for him. Context is everything.

Mitch settles there between his legs, presses his hips down so that their crotches rub together, and even through all those clothes still unshed, Mitch’s cock against his is almost unbearable.

*

Richie opened the door wearing a robe and, by the looks of it, nothing else. He invited Alex inside, hair stuck up and face coated with a sheen of sweat. Alex should have known better than to turn up unannounced.

When Mitch appeared from what Alex knew wasn’t his room, he remembered the evening spent laying on Mitch’s bed watching him try on various outfits before a night out, he was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a grin that could light up the whole power grid.

As he headed for the sofa Richie made his way to the kitchen, the two sharing subtle touches to each other’s waists as they passed, and Alex felt the need to look away. Mitch threw himself on the sofa with the same abandon he seemed to throw himself at everything, a satisfied noise escaping him as he stretched out, giving Alex visuals he really didn’t need right now.

Richie returned, handing Mitch a glass of orange juice he didn’t even ask for, and Mitch moved to make space for him, immediately slinging his legs over Richie’s lap as soon as he sat down beside him. Richie’s free hand rested on Mitch’s leg, fingers moving idly over the material of his pants as he scrolled absently through his phone, Mitch making pleased little noises as he sipped his orange juice.

The blush on Alex’s cheeks felt like it should be due to the sexual connotations, but he knew it was the intimacy that really bothered him. Mitch fucking everything that moved was one thing; seeing him happily in the aftermath with someone he clearly felt so comfortable with was quite another. Alex told himself far too often for it to really be true that he was over seeing Mitch with other people, but this was something else entirely. This was domesticity. This was Alex’s pathetic fantasy.

After a while Richie excused himself to go take a shower and Mitch turned on Netflix. He whined at Alex to come sit on the sofa with him until Alex finally relented, Mitch curling up to give him space, but as soon as the movie started Mitch began to gravitate across the sofa. Within 20 minutes he was snuggled up against Alex’s side, forcing his way under his arm.

Alex tried to shift away but there was nowhere else to go. He suggested that Mitch might at least like to put a shirt on but Mitch just asked for Alex’s jumper and Alex really wasn’t going there. Instead he sat, Mitch cuddled up against him and reeking of the sex he’d just had with someone else. But maybe this was the bed Alex had made for himself. He wanted to be the boyfriend. He never specified that he got to call exclusivity on the rest of it too.

*

Mitch pushes the shirt back from Alex’s shoulders, palms brushing over his flesh, such a sensuous feeling, and it’s as though time slows down. They undress one another, navigating buttons and zips and shoelaces and bunched fabric caught on joints. Everything is stark and real and it makes Alex feel exposed but it gives him something to hold onto as well. He doesn’t want the fantasy. He’s bored of the fantasy. He wants the reality for once, no matter how much it hurts later. Maybe he can’t crash down to earth so hard if he’s already there.

Mitch tries to lay on top of him again but Alex shakes his head, guiding him onto the bed, onto his stomach. He doesn’t want to get lost in flesh, in cock against cock, in animal instinct rutting. If this is all he gets, this one time, he’s made peace with that, but he’s seeing it all the way through, no more detours, no wandering off course. His memories will be fully formed and they’ll be worth wanking over because he’s taking everything.

He trails a hand down Mitch’s back, watches him shift against the sheets. He leans forward, his mouth following the same path, a trail of open mouthed kisses over every bump of his spine. He flicks his tongue out along his lower back where it meets the curve of his arse, tasting the musk, the salt of his sweat.

Mitch makes a noise, low and rumbling, his hips shifting restlessly. Alex grazes his teeth over the flesh of Mitch’s arse, nipping just a little before he shifts back. As he sits up Mitch tells him where to find the lube, the condoms, and Alex reminds himself that grounded is what he wants. This isn’t about romance.

As he slides a finger into Mitch, watches him shamelessly push himself up onto his knees, Alex pushes away the uneasy feeling of all the people who’ve been in just this position before him. Sex is sex. He’s putting the chip on his shoulder away, smashing it into a million pieces. This isn’t going to own him anymore.

*

Stoffel proved to be a more difficult conquest than Mitch was anticipating and Alex had never seen him put so much effort into the chase. Mitch always acted like he could take or leave sex, though he’d take it wherever he could get it, because it was easy for him and he wasn’t willing to struggle for something he could get for free.

Stoffel was different. Stoffel lit up something inside Mitch that incited a pursuit. Alex told himself it was just the challenge, Mitch’s competitive nature finding an outlet in a game that had been so easy for him. Stoffel had expectations on his shoulders and the media’s attention focused squarely on him. McLaren’s poster boy couldn’t afford to put a step out of place, and Mitch wanted to be the one to crumble the façade that all the pressure and competition never had. He wanted to win.

There was nothing vindictive about it and Stoffel honestly didn’t mind the attention, nor did he seem oblivious to Mitch’s intentions. And maybe he liked being pursued. Maybe he liked playing a game where the consequences weren’t high and at the end of the day he’d win either way.

Still, there was a nagging doubt that this meant more to Mitch, that he was putting so much energy into this because he _liked_ Stoffel, and as pathetic as it was the thought stuck in Alex’s throat. The amount of times that Alex had to listen to Mitch scheming, talking about what it was finally going to be like when he had Stoffel naked and begging and admitting that Mitch was all his dreams come true.

In the end Alex snapped that maybe he should just ask Stoffel out like a normal person if he was that hung up on him. Everyone in the room had stared at Alex with bemusement before Mitch burst out laughing. Alex was missing the point. He was always missing the point.

Mitch did bed Stoffel before the end of the season, Stoffel’s championship already in the bag and everyone’s expectations successfully met. Just like Mitch said it was nothing more than a one time thing, a trophy for him to win, and his obsession ended blissfully that night, nothing but a comfortable friendship remaining between the pair.

Alex tried to reconcile everything he’d seen with Mitch’s instant indifference once he got what he wanted. He guessed Stoffel was just a high point prize for him that he wanted to prove to himself, and maybe everyone else, that he could win. Alex wondered how many points he would be worth. He wondered if he was worth anything at all.

*

Mitch turns over as Alex kneels back, tearing open the condom. Mitch reaches out, taking it from his light grasp, and Alex tells himself he’s not trembling, that Mitch can’t see his hands shake. Mitch moves over to him, a softness in his eyes, and Alex wants to believe it but he knows that falling into that would be the most dangerous trap of all.

Mitch’s hand slides around the back of Alex’s neck, his thumb stroking at the hair at the base of his skull, and Alex can feel it all the way down his spine, making his breath hitch. With his other hand Mitch places the condom on the tip of Alex’s cock, leaning forward to kiss him deeply in the same moment that he rolls the condom on, the twin sensations making every hair on Alex’s body stand up, a tidal wave of want coursing through him.

Mitch shifts forward, breaking the kiss as he climbs into Alex’s lap, straddling him, hovering just there. Alex takes a breath and then Mitch is sinking down and Alex can see every second of it on his face as his own heart seems to stutter and then leap right out of his chest. He watches the sweat on Mitch’s brow, watches his lips part, watches his eyes go liquid with pleasure. He grips Alex’s neck tighter, enveloping him in so much heat, literally consuming him from head to toe.

Mitch pauses, resting on Alex’s thighs as Alex wraps his arms around him, cradling him. When he feels that surrender in Mitch, his weight trusted to Alex as he begins to move, Alex feels strangely touched, the friendship they’ve built over the last few years colouring the way this plays out. He tries not to hope that this means more than it does.

Mitch arches his back and moans, shameless but not gratuitous. Alex can see the difference between the two things now. Mitch is confident, in himself, his body, his abilities, and he’s proud of all of those things, but he’s not flaunting it just for the sake of it, isn’t playing the part to get a reaction. This is for no one’s benefit but his own, an honest reaction to the pleasure he feels as he grinds down on Alex’s cock, as he rolls his hips, comfortable enough in his own skin that he doesn’t feel the need to hide a second of it, laying it all on the line.

For Alex it’s an inspiration to lose his own usually tightly coiled inhibitions, to abandon himself to the act. He’s sat on the sidelines for too long, denied himself what he wanted, and this is about more than just getting it out of his system but it has to be about more than just making regrets as well. It has to be about seizing the moment and leaving nothing on the table.

He surges forward, laying Mitch down on the bed and covering him with his own body. Mitch’s eyes light up as he finds himself pinned down but Alex doesn’t savour it, can’t hold back now, as he dives in for a kiss. His body feels so powerful and so completely in touch with Mitch’s as they move together, lips and teeth and tongues, hips and legs and dicks. They moan into one another’s mouths, Mitch’s arms clinging to him, gripping him so tight that Alex feels like his ribcage might collapse.

The frenetic kiss can only be kept up for so long but they stay in each other’s space, breathing in the same air, and Alex can’t focus on any one thing but every time his gaze catches on Mitch’s he feels something deep shared between them, something meaningful and right.

Mitch writhes beneath him but it takes Alex far too long through the haze to realise that he hasn’t touched himself, that Alex hasn’t touched him either, not once. He gazes down Mitch’s tanned body, all hard lines earned through long gym sensations and dedication, a thing of beauty but a thing of tenacity and determination too. Curved upwards towards his stomach is his cock, hard, leaking, deep in colour. It looks painful. It looks fucking irresistible.

Mitch’s whole body jolts as Alex’s fingers wrap firmly around it, no hesitation, no teasing, not even any finesse if he’s honest with himself, but it seems to be getting the job done. He can’t tear his eyes away, his own fingers wrapped around Mitch’s dick, the heat of it against his palm, precome dribbling over his knuckles. It’s a filthy and pornographic image but to Alex it’s nothing short of beautiful.

He lifts his head, overwhelmed. Mitch is biting down on his lip, body taut, fingers digging into Alex’s shoulders. Alex dips his head down to Mitch’s neck, mouthing over the flesh, the smell of him, of them, intoxicating. He hears an echoed _come on, come on, come on_ and he realises it’s him, the words muttered desperately, pleadingly, against Mitch’s sweat slicked skin.

He needs Mitch to unravel beneath him, needs to see it and feel it before he can let go himself. He doesn’t want to miss a second of it, doesn’t want to let this be over until he’s experienced everything right there on the knife edge that’s inevitably going to slice him in half when it’s all over.

Mitch’s body arches from the bed as he comes, pushing Alex impossibly deeper into him, one hand sliding into his hair and pulling as he makes a guttural sound in his throat. He seems helpless, just for a moment, and Alex wants to want to take advantage, wants to revel in the upper hand, but really he just has a deep urge to protect him. He doesn’t have a nasty streak and he can’t hold it against Mitch that they’re not on the same page. Alex is a big boy, he knew what he was signing up to. He knew what he was sacrificing.

Mitch trembles beneath him and Alex’s hips surge forwards, driving every tremor out of him, driving himself right out of his mind. Mitch whimpers, whispers hotly into Alex’s ear, tells him he’s sexy and he’s so good and he wants to feel him come. Alex is good at doing what he’s told.

Mitch’s fingers card through his hair as Alex’s orgasm tears through him and it seems like such a gentle gesture. Alex’s hand, still sticky with Mitch’s come, grips his hip as he fucks into him, hips wild and erratic, instinctive, everything stripped away. He feels raw and open but the way Mitch holds him makes him feel safe too, makes him feel understood.

As he comes down he presses his face more firmly into Mitch’s neck, trying to drown himself in him until this feeling, this moment, is imprinted on him, etched deep into his bones.

*

Dubai had felt like another world, a parallel universe where maybe they stood a chance. They spent practically every minute of every day together, lounging on the beach, making use of the hotel gym, eating dinner out, and Mitch had documented every moment with his phone in Alex’s face. Alex was touched, as though it meant something, as though Mitch was recording memories to be looked over fondly when he got home. It was just snapchat though, images that would disappear from existence before the week was even over, and that felt like the perfect metaphor.

If it was ever going to happen, Alex knew, it was going to happen here, just the two of them enjoying each other’s company like they always did but it was even more concentrated because there were no distractions, no one else to catch Mitch’s eye. But Mitch would rather look at Alex through a lens, would rather memorialise him in a medium that simultaneously let him slip through his fingers.

Alex knew that he couldn’t leave without an answer and so he got Mitch drunk one night and he broached the subject, not about the two of them but about relationships, commitment, the possibility of maybe not fucking the whole grid. Mitch had snorted a laugh. _Why?_ Alex felt himself sag. If Mitch still didn’t know then Alex wasn’t going to beat him over the head with it.

One year of sharing the same paddock, the same friends, the same vacations without ever getting close to what he wanted was enough, he wasn’t going to waste another one.

As they left Dubai his decision was made. Sex was just sex and Alex wanted to take himself out of the game. The easiest way to do that was to become another notch on Mitch’s bedpost. After that he’d just blend into the background and maybe he could let this go. Next year wasn’t going to be ruled by his heart like this year was. Next year Mitch Evans was going to be out of his system and Alex was going to have nothing holding him back from a GP2 championship.

As they left the hotel, Mitch’s phone once again trained on him, on the two of them as they trailed their suitcases noisily behind them, Alex metaphorically hung his pathetic crush on the gatepost and left it behind at the millionaire’s beach resort along with so many other deluded broken dreams.


End file.
